Parched Pathos

I hate the color of your skin,
and the contours of your face.
My God calls them a sin,
and my pride, a disgrace.

You murdered my brother;
you’ll reap the whirlwinds.
I’ll take away your father,
your family, and friends.

I’ll find those you hold dear,
and set them all ablaze,
and the last thing they will hear
is me laughing through the haze.

And finally, for my own mirth,
I’ll even salt the very earth.